


V is for Vampire

by vittyyluvscookies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Barebacking, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Frottage, Light BDSM, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Mutual Masturbation, Vampire Sex, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, as in the bites are aphrodisiacs, but not really, whatever you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vittyyluvscookies/pseuds/vittyyluvscookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has been roaming the earth for almost half a century, and yet he has never met a creature as stunning as Sherlock Holmes. Too bad he's being forced by his mistress to turn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	V is for Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> Vampires are the best guys. I mean... love them.  
> Thanks a lot to my beta Bobby Frost! Without you my readers would just be stuck with a bunch of fairly obvious grammatical errors and horribly worded sentences!

John hated himself for coming to this old, run-down bus stop in London at night. Thirty years ago, he might have come here to pick up some prostitutes and have his fill, but now-a-days prostitution has been outlawed in this part of the city. All there is in this corner of the street now is a shoddy clothing shop and a vintage tobacco store. 

_Cold hands mean warm hearts._

John snorted as he read the sign outside of the worn-down clothing shop. If that was so, he thought, his heart must be as hot as the sun. It’s not as if he cares, though. He never wears gloves. He doesn’t need them, for he has never felt the chill of a cold night since he turned. It’s a blessing in some cases, John believes. From his memories, cold was never pleasant. 

“John.” 

John spinned around to see his sire, Irene, smirking at him, gleaming in her pale, luscious beauty, decadent in a slim, shimmering red dress.

“Irene,” John grimaced. “It’s always pleasant to see you.” 

“John,” Irene tutted. “You never once called in the past decade. What have you being doing, dear?” 

“You know very well what I was doing.” 

She responded with a wide, cat-like smile.

John was never a fan of Irene’s theatrics. He sighed.

“What do you want, Irene.” 

Irene’s laughter echoed throughout the empty street while John stared passively at his sire.

“Always one to get straight to the point, Johnny. Nothing seems to have changed,” She flashed him her fangs along with her smile this time. “While I would love to accept you back into the nest, I need just one little favor from you first.” 

John’s eyebrows rose at that. 

“And what makes you think I want to be accepted back into your nest? You haven’t exactly been nice to me these past few centuries, Irene.” 

Irene tutted again.

“For the same exact reason you’re here, Johnny. You’re bored.”

Irene’s eyes twinkled. 

“No, not just bored. You’re downright destitute. But then, the Queen’s Loyal Army has never treated its soldiers that well.” 

John grimaced at that. She was right. He was destitute. His pension was barely enough to support him, and all the money he’d earned previously had gone to his old nest.

And getting a job was dangerous. Who would want to hire an ex-soldier with ‘shoulder troubles’? It’s not as if he couldn’t forge another set of documents, but he needed money for that.

Irene seemed to sense his resolve.

“Well it seems like we’ve come to an agreement.” 

She walked slowly around John as he stood. He felt a cold breath next to his ear.

“22B Baker Street, dear. I want you to turn the resident, Sherlock Holmes, into a vampire. Do whatever you can, sweetheart, and you’ll get your reward.” 

John turned back, met only with an empty street, no trace of Irene ever having been there. 

“Goddammit,” John muttered struggling to get his phone out of his pocket. “I’m fucking screwed, aren’t I?” 

John quickly dialed Harry, the only sibling he still talked to, and bit his lip as the phone rang.

“Jo-ohn? Why are you … ” A pause, followed by scuffling from the other end of the receiver. “Calling me so early?” 

John looked at his watch. 12 a.m. 

“Harry, are you drunk?” John sighed. 

“What? No, John! I told you I stopped using all that bad blood!” 

“Yeah, yeah, OK. Listen. Irene just called me and wants me to turn some poor bloke into a vamp for her.”  
“Oh dear. Who’s the poor sod?” 

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Wait… _The_ Sherlock Holmes?” 

“Um, I guess. Unless there is another one?” John started towards the subway. 

“Well, I’m not sure, but if you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, then you’re screwed.” Harry sounded faint. 

John’s brow furrowed. 

“Why’s that?” 

He heard a sigh across the receiver. “Mycroft Holmes. Ring any bells?”

John froze in his tracks. _Oh. That Holmes. The Slayer family._

“Well shit,” John gasped. “How in the bloody hell will I convince a vampire slayer to turn into a vampire?”

“Well,” Harry said. “You could always force him. It’s not pretty, but it works.” 

“Oh yeah, Harry, let me just jump a poor bloke in an alleyway, drain him of all his blood, and then turn him. That certainly sounds delightful.”

“...” John could hear Harry sighing.

“No. I’m not going to do it,” he said defiantly. 

“John ... It’s your safety …” 

“Harry!” John reprimanded.

“C’mon, you’ve done worse…” 

“Yeah, when I was a fledgling! That doesn’t count! I’m not a mindless beast like.. like.. Adler!”  
John was enraged. Like hell was he going to resort to something so beastial as attacking someone for blood and then turning them without consent.

“Look, John, I don’t agree with this either. I’m just saying, it’s better than the alternative: you being stuck outside the nest.” 

John snorted at that, “I could fare well enough without Irene.” 

“That’s a lie and you know it, John,” Harry sounded desperate. “Please John, your pension is not enough to support you. Please come back. You’ll die without us.”

“I’ll think about it,” John mumbled angrily. 

John hung up and headed to the tube, back to his tiny little apartment where he barely had room to breathe. 

\-------

“John! John Watson!” John looked back to see a stout chubby man with glasses running towards him. “Remember me? It’s Mike! We studied at Bart’s together!” 

John blinked. Ah. Bart’s. The place where he got his medical licence four times in the past decade. It’s not like could retain his medical licence for one hundred years and still be able to work. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, hoping that Mike didn’t take notice on how he seemed like he didn’t age a day. 

“Blimey mate, you seem like you hardly aged a day since I last saw you!” Mike was red in the cheeks as he clapped a hand on John’s back. 

John merely smiled back. 

They walked for a while, trying to get back into the old rhythm of conversation they had back in med school. John told Mike about how he got shot and lives now on a pension in a shoddy apartment building. Mike told John about being a professor at Barts, which seems to still hold to be the best medical school in the country. 

“I don’t know, mate,” Mike said as they set down on a park bench after getting coffee, “I don’t see what’s so bad about finding a roommate.”

John snorted, “Yeah, like anyone would want me as a roommate.” 

Mike laughed.

“What’s so funny?” John asked. 

“It’s just ... I’m sorry ... you’re not the first person who told me that today.”

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? Should I continue? I mean I am going to continue, but constructive crit is welcome!
> 
> (btw to my other fic- On the Contrary- I'm updating it this Monday!)


End file.
